On Location With Caroline Quinn
Copyright© 2026 by Jessica Sloane
Chapter 5: “La Isla Bonita”
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 5: “La Isla Bonita” - After a plane crash leaves a sharp 39-year-old news correspondent and her 22-year-old intern as the only survivors on a remote island, forced proximity turns a crush into something much hotter. Flirty banter, a very public waterfall, one stupidly brave act, and then a fun night together.
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Ma Fa Age Gap Consensual Romantic Heterosexual Fiction Humor Vignettes Workplace Anal Sex Cream Pie Exhibitionism Massage Masturbation Oral Sex Petting Tit-Fucking Voyeurism Big Breasts AI Generated
Zack
♫ “I want to be where the sun warms the sky
When it’s time for siesta you can watch them go by
Beautiful faces, no cares in this world
Where a girl loves a boy, and a boy loves a girl ♫
♫ Tropical the island breeze
All of nature wild and free
This is where I long to be
La Isla Bonita “ ♫- “La Isla Bonita”. Written by Patrick Leonard, Bruce Gaitsch and Madonna. Recorded by Madonna (1987).
I woke in the middle of the night because the fire had dropped to embers and the hut had gone quiet in an uneasy way. Caroline was sitting up, awake, on the edge of our mat ... knees drawn up ... blouse hanging open off one shoulder. Moonlight came through the gaps in the fronds and laid a pale stripe across her thigh. She wasn’t looking at anything in particular. She was looking at nothing ... the way she looked at a monitor when a feed died, but she was already rewriting the package in her head.
“Hey,” I said.
She didn’t startle. “Go back to sleep.”
“You’re doing that thing.”
“What thing.”
“That thing where you pretend you’re fine, but your jaw is locked.” I pushed up on an elbow. The mat smelled like salt and the two of us. “Talk to me.”
She was quiet long enough that I heard the surf. Then she exhaled, short. “I keep doing the math. Five days of water if the stream holds. Fish if we’re lucky. No flare. No radio. No wreckage anyone can see from the air, or they’d have found us already. Commercial flight. They’ll have a search grid. But grids get smaller. People get tired.” Her thumb worried the torn edge of her blouse.
“I’ve covered this story, Zack. The one where they find some wreckage six weeks from now and then write a very gentle headline to a world that wrote us off for dead since the very beginning.”
“We’re not that story.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I know I’m not writing it. And I know that we are not going to die here.” I sat up beside her. Our shoulders touched. She was warm and a little rigid. “Caroline.”
“Don’t.” Her voice frayed on the word. “Just ... don’t. If you do your calm and confident voice I might actually cry ... and I don’t cry on location. It’s a rule.”
“Noted. Terrible rule.” I set my hand on her knee, light. “Hey ... we’re alive. Hut’s still standing strong. You cracked at least a couple of coconuts this afternoon. That’s not nothing.”
A small sound that wasn’t quite a laugh. She leaned into me anyway, forehead against my shoulder, and I felt the restlessness in her more than I heard it. Her foot kept shifting against the mat. Her breath wouldn’t settle.
“My head won’t stop,” she said into my skin. “It just keeps ... looping. Search patterns. What we should have grabbed off the raft. Whether that goddamn panther comes back. I can’t turn it off.”
“What do you need?”
She pulled back enough to look at me. Moonlight on her lips. Eyes too bright.
“Fuck me,” she said. “Please? It’s the only thing that’ll make my mind stop racing like this. And it’ll help me sleep.”
The please landed harder than the rest of it.
“Yeah,” I said. “Of course. Come here—”
She kissed me before I could even finish the sentence. Not like her waterfall kisses. Not like her laughing ones either. This one was searching ... a little unsteady ... her hand already in my hair like she needed the anchor. I kissed her back slower than she was moving, palm spread between her shoulder blades, and felt some of the tightness leave her on the second pass. She made a small sound against my mouth. I answered it. We stayed there until her breathing matched mine.
“Take me to bed,” she murmured, eyeing our mat. “If we’re calling it that.”
I eased her down onto the mat. Her blouse was already a lost cause; I pushed it off her shoulders and she shrugged free of it, then lifted her hips so I could get her shorts down. No performance in it tonight. Just skin ... warm from sitting up ... the faint salt still on her from earlier today. I kissed the hollow of her throat. The top of one breast. She sighed and let her head tip back.
“That’s better,” she said, quieter. “Keep doing that.”
“I was going to.”
“Good boy.” A flicker of her usual voice, then it thinned again. “Zack. Don’t rush. I meant it. I need my head to go somewhere else.”
“It will.” I kissed lower, over the soft give of her stomach, and settled between her thighs. She opened for me without being asked. I put my mouth on her pussy and took my time about it.
She tasted like the day. Salt, clean skin, the sharper sweetness underneath. I licked her slowly, tongue flat, the way she’d told me she liked it, and felt her thigh jump against my ear. Her hand found my hair over and over. Not pushing. Just there.
“Oh,” she said, like she’d forgotten she could sound like that. “Okay. Yes. Right—God. Yes. Please. Stay there.”
I stayed. Long strokes first, learning the rhythm of her hips, then tighter circles when her breath shortened. She was extremely wet. I slid two fingers into her and curled them, mouth still working her clit, and she swore at the ceiling of the hut.
“Fuck!! That’s—don’t stop. You’re so—Zack, your mouth. I can’t think. Good. Yes. I can’t think. Keep—yes, just like that. Suck a little. There. There.”
I did. She rocked up into it, one heel digging into the mat, the other leg falling wide. I could hear how wet she was around my fingers. Every time I glanced up, her head was turned to the side, mouth open, eyes half-shut, the anxious line gone from between her brows.
I wanted that more than I wanted to breathe.
“You’re going to make me come if you keep—oh, fuck, do keep. Do keep. Don’t you dare get polite on me.” Her fingers tightened in my hair. “Talk to me. I need your voice too.”
I pulled off just enough. “You taste incredible. I’ve wanted to taste your pussy all day. You knew I wanted to.”
“I knew.” A shaky laugh. “God—finger me. Deeper. Yes. You’re so good at this when you stop asking for permission with your eyes. Take it. Make me come. I want to come on your tongue...”
I put my mouth back on her and stopped being careful. She came with a broken sound, thighs tightening around my head, pulsing around my fingers, one hand fisted in my hair and the other scrambling at the mat. I worked her through it until she tugged me up, breathless, kissing the taste of herself off my mouth like she needed the proof.
“Inside me,” she said against my lips. “Now. I don’t want a monologue. I want you on top of me. I want it hard. My head’s still—just fuck it quiet.”